Author: portolistening

It is no secret that for the past 9 months I’ve been moping around missing Porto. I returned this week for the EUSARF conference which was being held in Porto, Portugal. EUSARF is held every two years and is the largest gathering of European researchers and policy/practice experts on child welfare. I was part of a seminar on safety in residential care with colleagues from Australia Canada and the USA.

I’m pretty sure that as soon as my plane landed in Porto and my feet touched ground that I did not stop smiling for the first 24 hours. Part of my happiness was revisiting old “haunts” such as the “cozy apartment” and the church, the laundromat (yes, I have fond memories of it) and the vegetarian buffet. But the best was renewing friendships that I had made during my time in Porto. As I was walking, I saw Sr Gato and Cao! Sr. Gato is the older gentleman who feeds the colonies of cats in Paranhos. As usual, he was walking with his bags of food with Cao following him. We discussed the new building being built in the former parking/home of the feral community of “torti-girl”, blackie and spokescat. He said that two of the cats remained in the colony—tortie and spokescat (my names for them). When I encountered the building I had a terrible sinking feeling that the cats were chased away by the construction, but feral cats in Porto can’t be intimidated by a building project! Sure enough, they were there, looking for food from Sr. Gato and happy to have some tuna.

Another highlight was seeing Philomenia again. Phil was the cleaning lady in the building where I was in Porto. It can be lonely being a visiting scholar. You do not have the routines of a regular schedule. On many days I would not talk to anyone but Phil. She would come by to see me and cheer me up by doing a little dance or song. One time she found my lost flash drive. She was always smiling and just seeing her made me feel less alone. At first she did not recognize me but then the realization that I was the “Americana” dawned and there hugs and kisses Portuguese style.

Remarkably many things were the same—Sr. Gato, the cats, the women in the coffee shop, and vegetarian buffet, Alphonse who cut my hair and Phil—to the point that I felt as though I had left the stream of Porto and entered again at the same point. However, Porto is changing. The building and renovations are occurring at an amazing pace : Cranes dot the landscape. Moreover the tourism machine continues at an even more frenzied pace. the volume of tourists almost obstructs the sidewalks in parts of the city.

Tourism has certainly helped the economy in Portugal. Porto was a city in need of revitalization. Tourism has given it new life. But it has also driven up housing prices and made it impossible for students to find affordable housing. Families are forced to move and have difficulty finding housing that is affordable and in reasonable proximity to their jobs and schools. The irony is that the very thing that makes Portugal so attractive to tourists—the kindness and sincerity of its citizens, reasonable costs and feeling as though you are getting a glimpse of the real Portugal—is exactly what is at risk. Without some limits on the commodification of Porto, then it will become a shallow imitation of the “second city” of Portugal.

The best part of returning is renewing friendships. I visited with Katia and her family who gave me a ride to Lisbon and fed me and let me stay so that I could meet with my colleagues at the University of Lisbon. I was driven to the airport by my good friend Patricia. This was because the trains were on strike! Elsa and Daria let me stay in their gorgeous apartment overlooking the Douro river and held a dinner party for me so that I could catch up with Pedro and Ana. Catarinia met me for coffee and then forced me to eat the most delicious croissants in the world at a coffee shop in Foz. Ana prepared my favorite dinners and I danced with Vincente in her living room. At the conference I was able to renew my friendships with colleagues from all over the world—people who had helped me while on my Fulbright. I made new acquaintances in Sr Bruno and Ze in the café where I took my morning coffee. (I am feeling as though food is playing a part in these friendships). Seeing students that I taught last year or collaborated with was such a pleasure.

In Portugal I am my best self. I am not sure why this is difficult to maintain this in my USA world, and while I tried that last time to keep my sense of adventure and mojo, it fell flat. Travel forces me to confront things that make me uncomfortable and pushes me to listen in a different way. My challenge in returning home is to find some way to keep returning to Porto, even if it is only in my head.

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This week I posted my official blog article for the Fulbright Foundation on what I learned in my Fulbright semester in Portugal. This seems to be a good juncture to end the “Porto listening blog”. However I would be remiss if I did not share some of the less “formal” but equally important things that I learned about myself during my time in Porto.

(1). I should never seek employment as a locksmith or safe cracker. I spent a lot of time staring at doors trying to open them

(2) Even if I take the wrong tram, metro or train, I can find my way home (3). Planes being cancelled can lead to new friendships and generosity of spirit (thanks Johanna and Mady for helping me get to the Alps and educating me about Ed Sheeran )

(4). Student of all nationalities like long coffee breaks, candy in class and early dismissal

(5). I can eat pigs ears and cabbage. (6). I CAN rock a “swing out sister” haircut

(7). Picking olives is a lot harder than it looks

But my biggest lesson learned is that I have to take chances and make mistakes.

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I entered my career in the Academy with a drive to study ways to help to improve the care of children in out-of-home placement in the United States. Over the course of my 25 years in (and out) of the Academy, my focus transitioned to the “outcomes” of out-of-home “treatment” for maltreated children and away from the maltreated children who drove me to this line of work in the first place and their rights that they had as human beings to a safe, nurturing, and loving home. Before I left for my Fulbright experience in Porto Portugal in September 2017, I had stopped taking the time to listen and reflect, and this was negatively impacting my research. I was no longer focused on the process and listening to the experiences for children and staff.

I realized that my perspective was being narrowed by my context of large datasets and secondary data and that I needed to go to another country and look at the situation of residential care with “new glasses” if I was to be of any use to children and their families here in the United States. My best chance of doing this was through a Fulbright. But I had doubts. While I was proud of the body and the quality of my research scholarship and teaching, I knew that it was a “small” career with a small “c” in the perspective of the Academy. A “big career” in the Academy is often one that is driven by the quantity of papers and grants that one is able to produce, and not the way in which that scholarly activity changes the world. Therefore, my surprise, delight and anxiety of being awarded a Fulbright to Portugal were equal in measure.

To be successful in achieving Fulbright’s mission, and the goal of my research and teaching, I had to re-learn how to listen and not be so quick with answers and solutions. This later part would be easy as my Portuguese was at a toddler level of fluency and not up to speaking in complex sentences! Consequently, I had to read body language, listen very carefully and observe and ask simple questions. This would prove to be particularly important in understanding why institutional care is utilized in Portugal at a much higher rate than any other Western European nation. According to the 2016 report authored by Instituto da Segurança Social, 62% of children were in long term residential care (institutional, group homes), 26% were in temporary small group home care (also institutional) which is approximately 88% of all children in out-of-home care who have been referred for reasons of maltreatment. In contrast, only 3% were in foster care.

Being in Portugal for an extended period and observing and interviewing helped me to understand that this is a complex situation not given to simple solutions. Culturally, there is a religious history of institutions, and a strong tradition of family. There is no history of people being “paid” to make children family members. In addition, working in a group home or institution is a career. People can spend their lives in this work which is the case in the United States in only a small handful of model organizations. On political and economic levels, the government is neither structured for nor is there a history of ‘risk taking’ for financing innovative practices to develop alternatives to long-term residential care for children.

More importantly, during my time in Portugal I changed my view about residential care. Initially I had a negative view of residential homes. But I came to appreciate how these were homes, even if they did not look like a typical home. Even the language used in Portugal is different. At first, when translating written interviews, I back translated the Portuguese term for care “Casa de acolhimento” a “residential” when the literal translation is “Welcome house”. After talking to staff and observing homes, I had an “ah ha” moment in which I realized that my translation was wrong and the literal meaning of welcoming homes should be used. Because this idea of “welcoming” and “home” was very much the model of care. I witnessed a much more attachment/affectional style of working with children and it has helped me to think about how a social learning model which also includes structure and affection can be implemented in the United States. Now that I have returned to my “welcoming home” in United States I want to do some more thinking and listening to people in residential care so that I can continue to develop my ideas.

Teaching also broadened my perspective. Up until now I had placed my research area within child welfare measurement and evaluation, but being asked to teach about my research in the context of human rights forced me to broaden my thinking. I began to read and think more deeply about human rights, specifically child rights in the EU, and about the right to a home when you have left your family and your home behind in another country. I concluded that the right to have a place that you feel is “home” is a universal right, and as this is controversial considering the world-wide refugee crisis, that my contribution may be to create a measure that preserves youth voice but provides empirical data to support living in the most home-like and least restrictive setting.

As an instructor, I was impressed by how much the students enjoyed learning about theory and their passion for promoting human rights. I was in awe of how well my colleagues managed their teaching and research loads. I appreciated how the doctoral students made it a mission for me to NOT eat my lunch at my desk working, and to learn to love salted codfish, and included me in their social plans for the weekends.

Finally, it is impossible to describe the utter sincerity and generosity of the Portuguese. I think that is Portugal’s greatest natural resource. I hope to continue my work in Portugal in some way, and share my experiences with faculty at my university and other academic institutions, encouraging them to explore the great opportunities a Fulbright grant has to offer.

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I once wrote a manuscript about in-between spaces. For example, adolescence is an in-between space, as you move from childhood to adulthood, neither fully one or the other. Transgendered persons experience this in-between-ness as do many multi-racial persons. It can literally also mean being in a “space” e.g. a hotel room or an airplane or airport between what you left behind and what you are going to. Sociologists call this a “liminal space” or on the cusp of being in a place, symbolically or in reality.

I’m in a liminal space now, occupying a hotel room near Toronto’s Pearson Airport, watching the snow fall. I feel as though the liminality began when I left the “cozy apartment” and booked a hotel near the Porto airport, to fly to Lisbon, where the plane to Toronto was delayed for 3 hours, resulting in a lost connection to Pittsburgh (and hopefully not lost luggage). I had to stay overnight in Toronto to wait for another flight, this being winter in Toronto, with bad weather and of course, the holiday when everyone is trying to get “home” from the in-between spaces.

While I would love to get back home as soon as possible, I’ve decided to tolerate the in-between. The past four months were intense with a real immersion in Northern Portugal and the University Communities, as well as travel to lecture and to collect data in other countries. I understand and speak another language now. I think differently about my work and myself. The in-between gives me time to become “Mary Beth” again, mother, wife, crazy cat lady, and think about what the next “space” will be and how I am going to make that happen. I used to mentally scoff when people talked about “transformational experiences” but this Fulbright has changed how I view the world, my research and teaching. I’m not the same person who left Pittsburgh on September 7: I think of my work and the world in much larger ways now, and I like the kind of person that I’ve become—(one who will jump on a plane to Munich not knowing how she will get to Austria and grab a ride in a van with people driving through the alps to reach her destination in time to teach).

I’m just hoping that the in-between doesn’t last too long—I would like to be home for Christmas.

I was at the school of social work and social policy) at the University of Lisbon and then at MCI Innsbruck. Last week was a succession of trains, metros, plans, taxis, vans and bikes.

The trip to Innsbruck was like a Wes Anderson movie. Austrian Airlines cancelled the Frankfurt to Innsbruck leg, leaving a group of stranded strangers who for one reason or another needed to get to Innsbruck Thursday night. There were the two beautiful and friendly young women from Sweden who won a radio contest to meet Ed Sheeran and watch a private concert in a resort in the Alps. An older gentile couple from France needed to be at a conference. Four middle-aged guys from Denmark had a long ski weekend planned. Then there was a highly anxious and excitable 40-something man from Spain in a suit, with a small black carry-on and not a word of English in his vocabulary. In fact, the only word that he could say was “trem”. I’m not sure if that is train or just “trem”.

The short story is that I finally arrived at Innsbruck @2am after shouting in desperation to the line of people at Lufthansa check in line “does anyone speak Spanish” (there was) and he helped me to get my highly anxious and confused Spaniard –who attached himself to me at the gate like a heat seeking missile– into a cab to a hotel. J and M, the two Swedish girls who won the trip joined me on a flight to Munich Germany, closer to the border, and then got me stowed onto their van ride. Klaus the taciturn Tyrolean drove the three of us and some other sleepy people through the mountains in pouring rain and we all arrived safely.

Today I saw my Spanish friend at the Innsbruck airport at 6am. He saw me and said “Trem”.

Honestly– I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

I had a great experience at both Universities, although the two cities could not be more different. Lisbon is warm and Mediterranean, with the Tagus river meeting the Atlantic under a brilliant blue sky. It is said that the light is magical in Lisbon. From my viewpoint at the University I could see the iconic 25th of April bridge across the Tagus. I love Lisbon and I will miss this beautiful city of trams, tiles, bridges and the Atlantic.

Innsbruck is in a valley surrounded by the snowy alps and divided by the Inn river. The snow when it falls at night resembles the Swarovski crystals produced in the city. The old city looks like an illustration that you would see in a children’s book. Biking around the city I saw dozens of people with fir trees strapped to their cars. The Christmas markets are an event of unabashed consumerism fueled by alcoholic punch, lots of bread products and singing Italians, Germans and Austrians all surrounded by fir trees, fires and twinkling lights. I finally got some of the “Christmas spirit” during my short stay.

I’m wrapping my work up here this week and saying goodbye to old and new friends. Then home.

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Although trail running is very popular in Portugal, I’ve not been able to run trails since I’m in the city without a car. But I’ve made the most of running in the city, trying to learn different neighborhoods through running the sidewalks. Some of the neighborhoods that I’ve run are my neighborhood of the University of Porto in the north of the city, the ocean neighborhood of Foz, the neighborhood of Boavista (beautiful view), the “subway” route into centro Porto and my favorite route of all, along the Douro river to the Atlantic through the city of Vila Nova de Gaia. While running I’ve watched the everyday life of this city: old men reading their paper and students drinking coffee and talking in cafes, older women washing lobbies and front steps, parents taking their children to school and shopkeepers opening for the day. Probably the best running discovery was the washing tanks in Afurada, Gaia along with the crazy gypsy flea market on Saturdays. https://portoalities.com/en/afurada-the-magic-fishermen-village-just-across-porto/ I could run this route every day and never tire of the views and the activity along the river and the ocean. Seeing older women dressed head to toe in black (including black crew socks) washing their front steps or grilling sardines makes me feel as though run into an entirely different world.

While I’ve never connected with a running group, I have been able to observe the running life in Porto. There are community-based running clubs, usually tied to a neighborhood e.g. Gaia, Porto and Salgueiros have running clubs. These clubs are evident during road races. I’ve run two races here: the Porto marathon 15 K and the Paranhos 10K.

My observations are only based on these two races, so I don’t want to make any generalizations but I have identified some differences. American runners like gear—water vests/bladders, belts, headlamps for night running and reflective gear, water proof gear…we like stuff. Portuguese runners are minimalists for road races. They generally are not carrying water but wait until the water stops where you get full bottles of water. Americans look like they are preparing to scale Mt Everest relative to their Portuguese colleagues. PortaJohns are at the start of the race and bring Kleenex. If you feel the need, there are plenty of good bushes along the route. There are no pacers and the corrals are chaotic with everyone jostling each other. I’ve watched several runners drink espresso right before a race and finish the coffee with a cigarette. But despite the minimalist caffeinated approach, these are some of the most efficient and fast runners that I’ve ever witnessed.

I look forward to running with the Steel City Road Runners in January, but it has been fun to observe this specific community in my adopted city.

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I’ve been observing the companion animals and their owners here in Porto. Dogs are quite popular although there is no leash law (or if there is, no one pays attention to it). As a result you see dogs in the street, and I’m not sure if they are out for a stroll or are actually homeless. People don’t pick up after their dogs which is surprising and has made running a bit like an obstacle race. In rural areas the problem is dogs being chained. There is a petition being circulated to stop this practice but while that will help I think that it is about changing attitudes. I once went to a farm market in a rural area and was horrified to see a skeletal dog chained not 15 feet away from where everyone was parking for the market. I don’t know if this was so “normal” that no one noted it, but I still have flashbacks to that and wonder what I could have done to help that poor animal. Yet, here in the city, I see perfectly coiffed small dogs with little jackets, well-fed and obviously loved. I see dogs on the subway, dogs waiting outside of stores and banks for their owners; however, I do not see service dogs.

Porto is similar to Istanbul in its relationship with street cats. While they are not as celebrated as in Istanbul, there is a neutral to warm co-existence with them. As far as I can tell, they are not treated hatefully as they are in the United States: no one is sending posts with “come get these cats or I’m going to poison them”. I see feeding stations, including some with two levels and a view—what the Portuguese would call a T2 flat! But there are a lot of street cats in Porto, and that is the case because trap, neuter and release does not seem to be a common intervention for reducing the population. I see male cats with their parts intact and only a few cats with “ear tips” which indicate that they have been neutered. While this co-existence may work for now, as tourism increases and cats lose their spaces to flats and hotels, I can see this changing, and not for the better for cats.

I have a group of feral cats that I share with Senhor Gato. I don’t know his name, so this is my name for him. I guess his age to be about 70. Senhor G has an old dog, which I named “Gato-Cao” or cat dog. He looks like a mix of collie and corgi and has a wonky eye and lists to the right when he walks. Senhor G and GC walk together with GC about 10 steps behind and unleashed. Senhor G is always carrying two large plastic bags of food, one in each hand. One bag is filled with dry cat food and the other with leftover table food. The two of them make the daily rounds of feral communities: the community that I feed is clearly one of his favorites.

Cat-dog

We “converse” although his accent is totally incomprehensible to me. The conversation sounds like “Os Gatos…(a stream of vowels and sounds) a few words that I recognize like “menina” or “comida” or “peixe” then he smiles from ear to ear. It is a nice moment between two people who communicate via a shared love of street cats. He fills their bowls with dry food and gives them some table food and then he he is off, GC listing behind him as they walk off to the next feeding station.

There is a regular gang of 4 with an occasional 5th. The first is “spokescat”.

This is a black neutered cat with a white patch on the chest. I call him/her spokescat because this cat kept nagging me as I walked past each day on my way to the University. “HELLOOOO…. Do you have any food in those bags by chance?” He (I assume it is a he) was the front-man for the community, and he is the reason that I started feeding them. From eating my food and Senhor Gato’s food he is getting a bit portly but that doesn’t stop him from nagging me anytime he sees me walking by his lair.

Then there is Blackie, who is, as you guessed, Black. Blackie is the most reserved and dignified of the group, not asking for food and not fond of human contact. He/she is the food snob of the group. If it is not tuna or fresh fish, then Blackie is not interested. Here he is waiting for better food.

Tortie-girl is a cheeky petite female (tortoise shell cats are always female). She waits for me and then runs to greet me. She likes to sniff my lunch box and will tolerate some petting. She will eat anything. She is probably the “cat most likely to be snuck into my luggage”.

tortie-girl

Tiger is a striped orange and brown and black Tabby. I think Tiger was a house cat at one point because he/she is very friendly in a way that ferals are typically not. Tiger is also a food snob like Blackie, preferring fresh fish to cat food, but will eat the cat food if nothing better is forthcoming. Here is a photo of Tiger compromising by eating cat food.

Tiger

Finally, a fifth cat joins the gang periodically. This is a very shy and feral brown tabby. I don’t know much about this cat since he/she generally hides and only eats if I put the food under the car. I have no photo of brown tabby.

I honestly will miss these guys when I return home, and also the duo of Senhor Gato and his dog. I know that that Senhor Gato will take care of them but over time I’ve come to learn their different personalities and I have a lot of fondness for them and their food quirks. But my two foodie cats await me at home, so I will leave them here, where they belong and where they will be taken care of by my friends.

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The Grimm brothers, authors of fairy tales such as Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood, could only have come from a country like Germany. German culture is deeply rooted in the forests and from my window of the train, as the sun was rising I saw the forests of these tales from my childhood. The brothers lived in Kassel and did much of their writing while working as librarians in the city. The landscape was also strangely familiar to me: rolling hills and farms between piney forests. No wonder so many Germans settled in Pennsylvania. It must have felt a lot like home.

However, I was not able to visit the beautiful forests because my time at the University of Kassel was a blur of work activity. I taught two classes and a seminar, and I saw three residential programs for youth and interviewed staff at these programs. The students that I taught were bright and engaged in their studies in social work. I did get a brief tour of the city from Juri, Franzi and Sigrid, my hosts for the week as we went to visit programs. Juri, a native of Kassel, explained that 90% Kassel was destroyed by the RAF and the US Air Force because it was an important manufacturing center of German tanks and airplanes. The photos of the city around the turn of the century and then after the bombing show the extent to which the city was obliterated.

Although most of the town was rebuilt post-war, the style was more utilitarian than romantic. Nonetheless, it is a lovely city with a great tram system, a city center and a University.

The University of Kassel began in 1971, so it is a relatively “new” University for Germany. One architect scathingly called the design “smurf village” but I think that it is a complement. The cobbled diagonal though campus, the tiled roofs and brick village are rather smurf-like but charming and cozy. and a little confusing. One day when I could not find my way though the campus to the department of social work, I considered using bread crumbs.

Being this far north in Germany, the darkness lifts slowly and starts around 4pm, so the bright lights of the café and the library were welcoming as you walk into the campus.

After taking a taxi, two trains and two planes, I touched down in Porto late afternoon on Thursday. It is strange how Porto feels like “home”.

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As I have mentioned, I have two cats—Maggie and Chip and they are very different. Maggie can’t be bothered to run away. If she gets outside, she just plops down on the sidewalk in the sun or grazes in the grass. She likes being outside–she just doesn’t go far. Mr. Chips is a different kind of cat. He looks for every opportunity to run outside. He’s jumped out windows, escaped from the garage, and I swear one time I saw him tying bedsheets into a rope. He is fast and more than once I’ve chased him through the neighborhood in my robe and slippers, screaming “I’m going to turn you into ear-muffs if I catch you” (I would not, but it feels good to yell that).

I’m like Maggie. But today I am in the airport en-route to Kassel Germany via Frankfort. I’d be happy to stay in my “cozy apartment” (that is how it is advertised) find my sun spot and watch TV and follow my little routine, but I told myself when I accepted this Fulbright that this was the time in my life to say “yes” to opportunities. My colleague Sigrid James, formerly from the USA but now living back in her home country, extended an invitation for me to teach and to view some residential programs in Germany. Sigrid is one of the experts in out-of-home care and a friend, and I’ve very happy to spend time with her and her colleagues at University of Kassel. I teach two classes and a seminar and visit three programs to make contacts and collect data, one of which is a center for unaccompanied refugees. The University of Pittsburgh University Center for International Studies funded my travel and support of this research.

My time here has helped me to think about the potential my research has for extending an understanding of “home” beyond the rather limited academic path that I’ve taken with it.

Although Portugal does not have a lot of refugees, it has a group of involved researchers at my university, who have been studying how the refugee experience impacts education. I also personally have thought a lot about home and what makes something restrictive or not, just from my own experiences of living in several kinds of places in Porto. So, this house cat is on her way.

In the past two months I’ve created another life, and to some degree, another persona here in Porto. It is my way of dealing with the separation from my family and home and friends. I try to not think much about home and I do it by existing in a state of semi-denial. My watch is on Portuguese time and in the 24 hour format. I try not to skype or face time because it is too difficult for me—email, whatapp, messaging works best at keeping the wall up. Seeing faces makes me very homesick. I try to not think about what they could be doing or what time it is in Pittsburgh. I live here in this place and in this place people only know me as I present now. Since I can’t speak fluently, people don’t really know me as Mary. Here they know me as the Portuguese version of Mary, which is Maria.

Maria is browner than Mary and her hair is shorter and she weighs a little less. She knows how to de-bone a fish and knows the ingredients that go into a dish called “old clothes”. She eats cabbage and Brussels sprouts and drinks wine when she cooks her dinner. She cooks. She knows what a cooked pig’s ear looks like but draws the line at tripe. She waits in line for food. She can harvest olives. Her TV obsession is “Australian Master Chef”. As you can tell, Maria is interested in food.

Maria is always being asked directions or for the time. She walks everywhere and takes the steps rather than the escalator. She likes to walk the city and look at doors and the faces of people and at families. She says good morning/afternoon and night and hello to everyone even though her accent is strange. She goes to the Church of Paranhos daily to sit and think. She knits. Maria can go 48 hours without talking to anyone other than her posse of feral cats.

Maria/Mary Beth worlds came together when my long -suffering and patient Portuguese teacher realized that his aunt was working with me at the University. He asked her– “do you know Mary Beth”? and she replied, “who is that??” They finally figured out that Mary Beth was Maria but it made me think about this duality. Here they only know what they see and who is presented to them and the information that Mary Beth can share in her limited way.

It’s an interesting duality. We will see how Maria develops and what remains when Mary Beth returns.

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